


joke me something awful (just like kisses on the necks of best friends)

by gothfob



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Compliant, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Pete Wentz's Suicide Attempt (Best Buy Incident), Smut, Time Travel AU, and unresolved feelings, duh - Freeform, dumb fob lyric references, i know thats a contradiction, pete and patrick get Angry at each other, pete has a lot of words written about patrick, pete time travels, whats new, you know the usual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2020-03-17 10:59:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18963886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothfob/pseuds/gothfob
Summary: “Sometimes, I wish we could start over. That we could be different people with different lives. Better people. But you can’t let anything go. You won’t let me in again. You won’t give me a chance to prove myself.“I’ve apologized to you, time and time again. I’ve thrown myself at you. Begged for you to take me back. Declared my undying love on a stage in front of thousands of people. And where did it fucking get me?” Pete growls.“I don’t know, Pete. Where did it get you?” Patrick tilts his head, clenching his fists like he’s ready to strangle Pete. The feeling is mutual.“Nowhere!” Pete shouts, getting up in Patrick’s face. “Everything I’ve ever done for you. Did it mean nothing to you? Does it even matter? I tried so fucking hard to please you, to make you happy, to make you love me.“I’m tired of groveling for your affection. Fuck you, Patrick. I’m done with it. I’m done with you. Have a nice life.” Pete feels like he’s possessed, like he’s watching everything happen outside of his body.Or the time travel AU where Pete and Patrick have some unfinished business and Pete is the only one who can save their relationship by altering time itself.





	1. one

**May 2018**

 

Pete and Meagan decide to name her Marvel.

 

She is the smallest, most precious thing he has ever seen. Pete has a hard time believing it’s real, that he finally has a baby girl that he can love and hold and kiss. It’s a little weird, too, the idea of adjusting to having a newborn again. Sleepless nights are the norm for him, on tour or otherwise.

 

Pete posts a picture of his family on Instagram, and he cuddles up close to Meagan on the hospital bed. The baby sits on top of her chest, fast asleep. Meagan’s eyes are fluttering closed, exhausted from so many hours of labor. Pete presses a kiss to her forehead, and slides out of the bed.

 

He takes Saint and Bronx out by the hand, telling them that MJ needs her rest, and so does their brand new little sister. They’re a little too loud and rambunctious to stay bedside.

 

When he makes his way down the hallway, he stops at the vending machine to get the boys snacks. He’s all out of the healthy ones Meagan insisted he pack. He turns a corner and heads to the waiting room, where he can get the boys settled on chairs. He hands Saint his phone to play games on, and Bronx has his headphones in listening to music while he chews.

 

Pete smiles at them, ruffles Bronx’s hair, and turns to face the welcoming committee. Joe pulls him into a hug while Andy congratulates him. Pete pulls Andy into the hug against his will, but it feels like home. Pete feels like he can’t seem to stop crying today, overwhelmed with emotion. Once he pulls back from the embrace, he darts his gaze around the room.

 

“Where’s Patrick?” Pete asks, his eyebrows furrowing.

 

“He’s running late. Something about traffic.” Joe murmurs, giving Pete a strange, pitying look that seems out of place on his face.

 

“It’s fine. I’m stuck here for a while anyway.” Pete sighs, sinking into a chair near the doorway. Joe and Andy take up seats on either side of Pete, right next to the kids.

 

Pete hates hospitals. The smell, the dim lighting, the memories that wash up every time he steps into one. He’s grateful he can cover up the bad ones with the good. The births of his children are bright spots in a dark abyss. He holds his head in his hands and tries to breathe.

 

Pete tries not to think about waking up in a hospital bed all those years ago, the tears streaming down his mother’s face. The disappointed and concerned looks that Joe and Andy gave him. His friends packing up and going on tour without him while he recovered.

 

Worst of all, he thinks of Patrick. Devastated, hurt, and confused, begging Pete to promise to never do that to him ever again. Fiercely angry. Trembling with just how close he came to grieving. How it missed him by a breath and nothing more.

 

Pete crossed his fingers under the thin hospital sheets and made the promise.  It was during a time where he wasn’t sure if he could keep it or not, but he was damn well going to try. He wasn’t going to waste his second chance. Pete is shaken out of his grim trip down memory lane by the hospital doors opening and Patrick storming in with a flourish.

 

His face is flushed, breathing hard with a stuffed animal clutched in his hands. Patrick brushes his hair out of his face and fixes the sleeve of his cardigan, apologizing profusely.

 

“Sorry I’m so late. Traffic was a nightmare this afternoon. I... uh... brought this for you.” Patrick pants, looking down at Pete. “Well, for her.” He amends.

 

Pete smiles up at him, can’t help the reflex, and stands up to envelope Patrick in his arms like he has so many times before. The stuffed animal is pressed between their chests, a little stuffed bunny that’s purple with big eyes and a pink nose. It’s cute, but Patrick is much cuter. He keeps that to himself, because he doesn’t want to ruin the moment.

 

They’ve been on a short break from tour, so Pete hasn’t seen Patrick in a couple of weeks. It’s been too long already.

 

“I missed you.” Pete breathes, pulling back and holding Patrick at arm's length. Patrick smiles at him shyly and fixes the trucker hat on his head.

 

“It’s mutual.” Patrick laughs, and it sounds like music to Pete’s ears. His chest aches with it.

 

“So. Can I give this to her now?” Patrick asks softly.

 

“I’d say yes, but her and MJ just fell asleep. So how about I let Andy hold onto it until later, and you and I can take a walk? I’m sick of being in this place.” Pete huffs. Patrick nods, and turns to greet Andy and Joe with hugs. Pete only catches bits and pieces of murmured whispers, and then he squats down so he can be eye level with the kids.

 

“Daddy is gonna take a walk with Uncle Patrick, okay? Andy and Joe are gonna watch you for a little while. Behave.” Pete says, trying to sound stern. Bronx rolls his eyes, and Saint looks up from his phone to give him a toothy smile. Pete returns it, and then he stands back up to thank Andy and Joe.

 

“No problem, man. Go stretch your legs. Get the hospital smell out of your nose.” Andy encourages. Patrick hands off the stuffed animal, and then Pete wraps his arm around Patrick’s shoulder and walks out the door into the LA sun.

 

“How’ve you been, Patty?” Pete asks conversationally. Patrick shrugs and avoids eye contact.

 

“I’m okay. I composed some more stuff. Caught up on tv shows. Visited my parents.” Patrick ticks off on his fingers. Pete turns his head and smiles at Patrick.

 

“Sounds nice and domestic. How’s the wifey?” Pete asks, trying to sound nonchalant. He falls short, his voice coming out uneven and squeaky.

 

“Oh. She’s fine. You know. The same, really.” Patrick rambles, frowning. Pete rakes his gaze over Patrick’s face, trying to read him. He doesn’t see anything different than before.

 

“Good.” Pete nods, and then swiftly decides to change the subject. “So I didn’t get to see you on your birthday. I was thinking we could go out and celebrate this weekend? Ash is gonna have Bronx, and I’m sure Meagan can handle the baby and Saint for one night. If not, I can always ask my mom to help.”

 

Patrick gives him this look, torn between fond and exasperated.

 

“I can’t believe you’re pawning off your newborn on your girlfriend within a week of her being born. Don’t you wanna spend time with them?” Patrick inquires, tilting his head. Pete can feel his face get hot, the sun beating down on his neck. That’s all it must be.

 

“Of course I do. And I will. But I haven’t seen you in ages and I want to spend time with you too. You’re my golden ticket, remember?” Pete gives him a wolfish smile. Patrick rolls his eyes.

 

“Yeah. Let’s do it. Pick me up on Saturday. Six o’clock. Surprise me.” Patrick demands.

 

“You hate surprises.” Pete laughs.

 

“And yet I know you all too well.” Patrick smirks. They’re walking arm in arm around the perimeter of the hospital now, the wind blowing through Pete’s long hair. He slides on his sunglasses when he sees people in the parking lot watching them. Patrick seems to sense it, lowering the brim of his hat over his eyes and adjusting the thick frames of his glasses by pushing them up his nose.

 

Pete knows they aren’t doing anything incriminating or scandalous; in fact, they look pretty platonic. Pete has definitely done worse with Patrick, _to_ Patrick. Especially in public. But those days are over, he knows better now. He doesn’t need pictures of them splashed across every gossip website when Pete gets just a little too close.

 

He loves his job, he really does, but his daughter was born today, and he’s really not in the mood to get his picture taken or hand out autographs. He thinks he deserves a free pass on this day. So they keep their heads down and keep walking.

 

Pete laughs at Patrick’s jokes, pulls him closer and soaks up his body heat. He feels at peace with the world in this moment.

 

xxx

 

Saturday arrives quickly, and despite being up all night changing dirty diapers, Pete is loopy with happiness. He has Patrick’s birthday presents in the back seat of his car, and is on his way to pick him up. He left MJ and the kids with his mom for the night.

 

When he gets to Patrick’s house, he knocks on the front door and waits. Pete hears the scuffle of children’s feet, and then Patrick opens the door, red in the face with his hair sticking up. Declan is clutching at his leg and pouting up at him. Patrick smiles at Pete apologetically, smoothing down his hair and grabbing his house keys and wallet off the side table.

 

“Sorry. I’m ready.” Patrick says, and then he squats down till Declan can hug him and tuck his little face into Patrick’s neck. “I’ll be back later, buddy. Go spend time with Mommy, alright? I love you.” Patrick sends him off with a kiss on the forehead. Pete watches him scamper off with an odd sense of wistfulness.

 

Pete leads Patrick down the steps to the car with a hand on his lower back, even going so far as to open the passenger door for him. Patrick raises a perfectly groomed eyebrow at him, but he says nothing, getting in and buckling his seatbelt.

 

Pete lets Patrick pick the music, and starts driving to their destination. He smiles at Patrick humming under his breath, reminding him of something. When they stop at a red light, Pete turns in his seat to lean over the console and grab Patrick’s gifts from the back. Patrick slaps him on the arm and curses at him, but he’s forward facing a good twenty seconds before the light turns green again.

 

He drops the presents into Patrick’s lap.

 

“Happy birthday from yours truly.” Pete says by way of explanation. One of them is a notebook, and Patrick sets that on the dashboard for the time being, because he already knows what it is. He gingerly rips the wrapping paper on the thin, flat gift.

 

Pete glances out of the side of his eye, eager to see the joy on Patrick’s face.

 

“You didn’t.” Patrick gasps. “Pete, I can’t accept this. I love this record, but it’s way too expensive.” It’s a record that Patrick has had his eye on for years, but didn’t feel justified in forking over the cash for it. One of a kind. Limited edition. Signed and authentic. Pete made sure of it.

 

“It’s nothing, really. I’m rich, remember? You deserve to get everything you want.” Pete replies sincerely. “Besides, I knew you’d never buy it for yourself.” He adds hastily.

 

“It’s a ridiculous amount of money to spend on anything, let alone a record.” Patrick sighs, defeated.

 

“I’m the King of Ridiculous.” Pete beams.

 

“I could never forget.” Patrick laughs, utterly charmed. “But seriously. Thank you, Pete.”

 

“No problem, Tricky. You gonna open that?” Pete asks, jerking his chin towards the notebook on the dash and pressing down on the accelerator. They’re almost to his secret destination.

 

Patrick nods, strangely hesitant as he picks up the notebook and flips it open to the first page. It’s quiet in the  car for a while, Patrick reading while Pete navigates them into a parking spot. The radio is the only sound between them, a low buzz that feeds into Pete’s anxiety. He’s always nervous about Patrick reading his words, even though he’s ripped himself open so many times for Patrick to see.

 

Patrick glances up, sees the private beach before them, and doesn’t comment. He barely seems to react at all, his mouth a harsh line as he snaps the notebook closed and grips it with white knuckles.

 

“Are my lyrics that bad?” Pete laughs, awkward and forced. Patrick turns his head to glare at him. Pete is frozen, his heart threatening to burst. Things have been good for so long, too good to be true. He knew it was only a matter of time before they bend and break. He can see the fire burning under Patrick’s skin, the anger and the hurt.

 

Pete holds onto the steering wheel for dear life and waits.

 

“They’re about me.” Patrick says, scarily calm. His voice cuts through the crackling air between them like a knife. Pete looks down, unbuckling his seatbelt because he feels like it’s constricting his breathing.

 

“What are you talking about?” Pete says carefully. No admittance or denial. It’s a balance he’s learned over the years. A dance they always seem to fall into.

 

“The lyrics. You wrote them about me. _For_ me.” Patrick bites out, his words like acid. Pete shakes his head.

 

“No. I didn’t. They’re not,” Pete stutters, utterly guilty and transparent. This is a conversation they’ve had before. It was much scarier the first time Patrick had the realization. When things were falling apart and Pete was sure they couldn’t put them back together again.

 

“Don’t lie to me,” Patrick growls. “How did you find out?” Patrick’s eyes blaze.

 

His words don’t compute in Pete’s brain, they scramble into nonsensical fragments of sound. He thinks he must be losing it.

 

“Find out what?” Pete asks hollowly, blankly staring at the beach before him and avoiding Patrick’s gaze.

 

“That Elisa and I are getting a divorce.” Patrick replies, his voice flat and lifeless.

 

Pete flinches, his heart skipping several beats. He feels like his world is flipping upside down. Pete hates himself for the hope that flares up in his chest, but he feels sorrow for Patrick and his children and his soon to be ex-wife in equal measure. It crashes over him like a tidal wave, leaving him on the verge of a panic attack.

 

“What the fuck?” Pete chokes out. Patrick narrows his eyes at him suspiciously.

 

“I thought you knew. What you wrote...I just. We _can’t_ , Pete. This doesn’t change anything.” Patrick says viciously.

 

“I didn’t know. You didn’t tell me.” Pete whispers, wishing desperately that Patrick still carried around his inhaler.

 

“I know we can’t.” Pete adds, his voice cracking. He’s always known. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a mile long list of regrets. That he doesn’t wish things were different.

 

“We missed our chance, Pete. You made sure of that.” Patrick replies, his voice so bitter it stings.

 

“We could still have one!” Pete explodes with all the pent up rage inside him. “I would do fucking anything for you. You have to know that. The ball has been in your court since Folie. This was your choice, Patrick. Not mine. I’d give my heart to you in a split second.” Pete knows he fucked up, that he hurt Patrick beyond belief, but this is not all his fault alone.

 

“It doesn’t matter. It’s too late. My family is falling apart and I won’t let you turn your back on yours. They need you more than I do.” Patrick says, his voice dripping with despair.

 

“Patrick,” Pete tries desperately to get him to listen. “MJ would understand.” Just like every time before, Patrick doesn’t hear him. Not really.

 

“I don’t care. It’s not fair to her.” Patrick shakes his head, tears sliding down his face. Patrick gets out of the car, leaving his birthday gifts behind. He slams the door and leaves Pete there too, stranded and forgotten. His plan is ruined. Hell, his life is ruined. He might as well go for broke.

 

Pete gets out of the car, locking it before running after Patrick as far as his legs will carry him down the beach. They’re kicking up sand, the cold breeze hitting their faces and the sound of the waves hitting the shore.

 

“Life isn’t fair, Rick! None of this is fair to her, you, or me.” Pete yells after him. Patrick whirls around to face him, stopping in his tracks. Pete inches his way closer, like he’s approaching a cornered animal.

 

“You ruined our relationship the moment you knocked Ashlee up and decided to marry her. To make me have to stand there and smile like everything was fine while you told the world that you loved _her._ ” Patrick spits, his face turning pink with burning embarrassment.

 

“I didn’t plan for any of that to happen!” Pete bellows. “I fucked up. I do that a lot, okay? I know. But that was a really long time ago. I’m a different person now.”

 

“But it did happen, you asshole! You chewed me up and spit me out. You hurt me, over and over again. You can’t act like the past doesn’t exist. We have a lot of history between us. It’s never going to go away. You need to take responsibility for what you did.” Patrick screams, on the verge of turning blue.

 

“The same could be said for you.” Pete says lowly, his voice deathly quiet.

 

Pete does what he always does. He lashes out. It’s what he does best, after all.

 

“Sometimes, I wish we could start over. That we could be different people with different lives. Better people. But you can’t let anything go. You won’t let me in again. You won’t give me a chance to prove myself. I’ve apologized to you, time and time again. I’ve thrown myself at you. Begged for you to take me back. Declared my undying love on a stage in front of thousands of people. And where did it fucking get me?” Pete growls.

 

“I don’t know, Pete. Where did it get you?” Patrick tilts his head, clenching his fists like he’s ready to strangle Pete. The feeling is mutual.

 

“Nowhere!” Pete shouts, getting up in Patrick’s face. “Everything I’ve ever done for you. Did it mean nothing to you? Does it even matter? I tried so fucking hard to please you, to make you happy, to make you _love_ me. I’m tired of groveling for your affection. Fuck you, Patrick. I’m done with it. I’m done with _you._ Have a nice life.” Pete feels like he’s possessed, like he’s watching everything happen outside of his body.

 

Patrick punches him in the face. Pete goes down hard, falling on the unforgiving rocks and sand. He’s knocked out as soon as his head hits the ground, unable to hear what Patrick is yelling at him as his vision goes black.

 

When Pete comes to, he’s no longer on the beach. He’s laying in his childhood bedroom, all the way across the country. He blinks hard, thinking he must still be asleep.

 

He pinches himself. He’s not.

 

Pete sits up, looking around frantically for anything familiar.

 

All he sees are memories. No Patrick.

 

He gets up from his bed, heading to the bathroom. He freezes when he sees his reflection in the mirror. His hair is short, close to his head to hide the curl. He’s wearing days old eyeliner and an old band tee that’s far too tight. He’s got on white girl’s jeans with a studded belt that ride down so low you can see the top of the bartskull. He’s got chipped black polish on his fingernails and when he rolls up his sleeves, a lot of his tattoos are missing.

 

Pete looks at himself in the mirror and thinks it must be an illusion. He taps the glass, hoping it will give him some answers or maybe open a portal.

 

Pete staggers back into his room, hyperventilating.

 

He wonders if Patrick is okay. If he’ll ever see him again. His chest constricts and he feels like he might pass out again.

 

Pete squeezes his eyes shut and hopes he’ll wake up from this nightmare. When he opens his eyes once more, he feels defeated. Definitely still happening.

 

Pete shuffles through the papers on his desk, searching desperately for anything that might give him a clue. Eventually, once he’s made his way across the room to his nightstand, he finds his old sidekick.

 

The screen comes to life with the time, and his eyes widen as they focus on the date. That can’t be right. With a sinking feeling, Pete realizes that it’s real.

 

_June 20th, 2001._


	2. two

**June 2001**

 

Pete’s sidekick slips from his grasp and crashes to the carpeted floor. He stands there for a minute, staring at the wall and breathing heavily.

 

How did he get here? He has to find someone and tell them what’s happening. But only a handful of people he knows would believe him and not think he’s playing some kind of weird prank.

 

Pete bends down to pick up his sidekick and slip it into his back pocket before he runs out of his childhood bedroom and down the stairs. He comes skidding to a halt in the living room.

 

He looks out the window and sees that no one is parked in the driveway. His parents aren’t home. Pete thinks he might be having a psychotic break so it’s good they aren’t here to witness it.

 

Pete scours the house, looking for anything out of place. When he reaches the kitchen, he skids on the tile floor in his socks and bumps into something.

 

Or more accurately, _someone_. Pete lets out an (admittedly) high pitched shriek and takes a step back to look at the intruder. He pulls out a butter knife and points it at the person in front of him before he recognizes the shirt the intruder is wearing.

 

It’s a t-shirt Pete himself designed that reads _‘Please call Gabe Saporta’_ with Gabe’s phone number written above the hem.

 

“Dude,” Pete says, with feeling, directed at Gabe’s chest. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

 

“Oh, amigo, I belong here. I think the better question is what are you doing here?” Gabe laments, a blinding grin spread across his face. Pete shakes his head, trying to clear it.

 

“I don’t even meet you until years from now. How could you be here wearing a shirt that doesn’t exist yet? Am I having a stroke?” Pete asks, increasingly frantic and confused.

 

“Nope. I’m real. So are you. It’s the summer of 2001….” Gabe trails off, as if Pete knows the rest. Which, he kind of does. He just doesn’t understand why he’s re-living it.

 

“Joe meets Patrick. And he’s like ‘Yo, I know about music.’” Pete deadpans.

 

“Don’t quote drunken Brendon Urie babble at me. This is serious.” Gabe rolls his eyes.

 

“Maybe you could start by telling me what the fuck is going on. That would be nice.” Pete snaps. He can feel a tension headache coming on.

 

“It’s the summer of 2001.” Gabe repeats, much slower this time, like Pete didn’t hear him before.

 

“And?” Pete prompts.

 

“Okay. Let me try a different approach. What’s the last thing you remember?” Gabe asks.

 

“Patrick punching me. We had a fight.” Pete replies instantly.

 

“Do you remember what you said?” Gabe coaxes.

 

“I said I was done with him.” Pete sighs, deflating as he sets the butter knife on the counter. “And that I wish we could start over and be different people.”

 

“Be careful making wishes in the dark.” Gabe says ominously.

 

“Fuck off.” Pete hisses. Gabe bursts into laughter. Despite his better judgement, Pete smiles for a moment before reality sets in. “So I’m stuck here? Until when?”

 

“It depends. You wanted a fresh start and now you have one. I’m like your guide. Your time traveling genie, if you will.” Gabe explains, moving his hands theatrically.

 

“I want to kick your ass so badly right now.” Pete glares. “Are you saying you’ve been time traveling the whole time I knew you and never thought to mention it?”

 

“Well. Yes. But it’s not something I just tell people. It’s more like...I help my friends when I feel I need to interject. That’s when they find out.”

 

“Are you spying on me and my band?” Pete squeaks out indignantly.

 

“Mm.” Gabe tilts his head, considering. “No. I have a boss. He’s the one who keeps an eye on humanity. And since you’re my friend, he told me you needed my help. So, here I am. At your service.”

 

“But you’re not going to be of much help, are you? You’re just being weird and cryptic.” Pete squints at him distrustfully. “You really think you know a person, and then they go and do this shit.”

 

“Yeah. Sorry. It’s the rules. You have to figure out how to fix this by yourself. I can only give you hints.” Gabe gives him a sympathetic look.

 

“Okay.” Pete takes a deep breath, trying to think. “The day I meet Patrick is tomorrow, from what I remember. That’s when the band starts. So I just have to play my part?” Pete asks, desperate for clarification.

 

“Yay! You got it, querido. That’s where you start. It’ll make sense soon, I swear. Just trust your instincts. Follow your heart. All that inspirational shit.” Gabe beams.

 

“Wow. Thanks.” Pete says dryly. Gabe wraps him up in a big hug that Pete reluctantly returns. “What do I do until tomorrow?” Pete asks.

 

“I don’t know. That’s up to you. Kill some time.” Gabe shrugs.

 

“You’re so helpful.” Pete rolls his eyes. “Can I send your boss my review of your performance? Like a Yelp review for time traveling companions?”

 

“Nice one. But no, I’m afraid not. You’re stuck with me.” Gabe grins wolfishly.

 

“I won’t need you for this part. So go away.” Pete shoos him away with his hands.

 

“Good luck, man. If you need me, just yell. I’ll come running.” Gabe winks, and then with a snap of his fingers, he’s gone.

 

Pete stares at the empty air where Gabe was just standing and contemplates how he got here. He swears to God he will never argue with Patrick ever again.

 

xxx

 

Pete spends the hours leading up to meeting Patrick doing a lot of things to distract himself. Skateboarding around the neighborhood, reading all his old books, calling Joe, eating dinner with his parents.

 

Once he exhausts himself enough to fall into bed, he feels too wired to sleep. It’s nothing unusual for him, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t get grumpy about it.

 

Pete stares at the ceiling and thinks. If he fucks up badly enough, will Patrick no longer be his friend in real life? Will his kids still exist? Will he have ever met Ashlee or MJ? All of these thoughts make his chest ache.

 

He wonders if this is karmic retribution for all the bad he’s done. If that’s the case, he probably deserves this.

 

Pete’s downward spiral is broken by the light coming in through the blinds. The sun is rising.

 

Pete checks his bedside alarm clock. He’s got four more hours till he sees Patrick again. He decides to give up on sleep and go find something for breakfast.

 

Then, he showers and tries to make himself look presentable. He briefly tries to remember what he was wearing when he met Patrick the first time, and then he realizes something as miniscule as that can’t possibly matter. He ends putting on a bright orange hoodie and black skinnies and calling it a day.

 

He doesn’t bother trying to fix his eyeliner, because he hasn’t put it on in years. Besides, the more ruffled he looks, the better. It used to be sexy when you looked like you just rolled out of bed. But in an artful sort of way. Pete thinks he’s mastered it.

 

Pete gives his mother a hug on his way out, and then he hops into Joe’s old van. He hasn’t been inside this thing in well over a decade. The smell is distinctly old Cheetos, body odor, and weed. It makes Pete smile. There’s no place like home.

 

“Hey, Joey T. How’s it hangin’?” Pete asks, buckling his seatbelt and shoving his phone into the front pocket.

 

“I really wish you would stop asking me that.” Joe replies, scrunching up his face in distaste. “But it’s fine. I’m excited for you to meet this kid.”

 

“I’m excited, too. You’ve been singing his praises for days.” Pete snickers. He knows too much, but no one else can tell. Except Gabe, wherever that bastard went.

 

Patrick only lives 3 miles away from Pete, in the Glenview suburbs. Pete knows this very well. But he also remembers what he said when he wasn’t privy to this knowledge.

 

“Oh, wow. A musical genius lives awfully close to me.” Pete grins. Joe rolls his eyes, but pulls up in front of Patrick’s old house. The lawn is perfectly manicured, the shutters are painted a royal blue, and the door is bright red. It’s just as Pete remembers it. It makes him feel warm.

 

Pete bounds out of the car and up the steps to ring the doorbell. He bounces up and down on the balls of his feet in nervous anticipation. When Patrick opens the door, Pete’s stomach swoops violently. Patrick never fails to take his breath away.

 

A very teenaged, ill-tempered, pink faced Patrick stands before him. He’s wearing black shorts, an argyle shirt, a trucker hat, and knee high black socks. Pete is helplessly charmed, just like the first time.

 

“Argyle, really?” Pete echoes his past self, letting out a good natured laugh. Patrick reacts just the same way, too.

 

“Shut up.” Patrick scowls, blushing furiously.

 

“I’m not making fun of you. It’s cute.” Pete smiles. “Can we come in?”

 

“I thought you’d be taller.” Patrick retorts, turning an even darker shade of red, but he steps aside to let them in. Pete can’t help but laugh at this entire situation. It’s a little hysterical.

 

“Hey, Patrick. Nice to see you again. Ready to strut your stuff?” Joe asks, as Patrick leads them down the basement steps.

 

Pete can’t stop staring. He knows it’s probably creepy, but he hasn’t seen Patrick look like this in so long. It’s weird to know a version of Patrick that doesn’t know him yet.

 

Pete objectively knows that Patrick has always been pretty, but back then - _now?_ \- he really was (is) jailbait. Pete needs to keep reminding himself of that, so he doesn’t try to kiss Patrick or anything stupid like that. He can’t fuck this up before it even begins.

 

He just has to play his part. That can’t be that hard, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we're back! sorry it took so long, but i finally got someone to look this over for me. also made some small edits on the first chapter! thoughts on gabe being a time traveling genie, anyone? come on, i had to do it! excuse my shitty jokes and poor humor, i'm trying to have fun with this. i can't help putting gabe in situations where he doesn't belong. it's endlessly entertaining. i hope you think so too. 
> 
> come talk to me on tumblr @gothfob :)


	3. three

Pete will never get sick of hearing Patrick sing. 

 

Although this version of Patrick is just as stubborn as ever, and takes a lot of convincing to do more than play the drums.

 

“Please sing for us, Lunchbox.” Pete pouts, giving Patrick his best puppy dog eyes. 

 

“What is with you and the weird nicknames?” Patrick groans, wiping sweat off his forehead. 

 

“That’s just Pete being Pete. Don’t worry about it.” Joe supplies helpfully. 

 

“Whatever. I’m not a singer. I _can’t_ sing,” Patrick scoffs. Joe tilts his head and makes a face. 

 

“I find that awfully hard to believe.” Pete grins at Patrick’s furrowed eyebrows and scowl. He really loves riling Patrick up. It never gets old.

 

 “Have you ever tried?” Pete coaxes. 

 

“Well. No. Aside from in the shower. But I’m really not any good,” Patrick avoids meeting Pete’s gaze. 

 

“Okay then. Just humor us.” Pete smirks, his eyes twinkling at Patrick. 

 

“Fine. If it will get you to shut up.” Patrick huffs, but he gets up from behind the drum kit and grabs the guitar in the corner of the room. He starts to play _Through Being Cool_ , and as soon as he opens his mouth to sing Pete is floored, just as he was the first time. 

 

Patrick has the most silky, magical voice Pete has ever heard. Pete is honored to have Patrick be his voice. To sing his words. To be his other half.

 

Pete’s heart is racing, he can’t stop looking at Patrick with reverence. No matter how many times Patrick sings to him, Pete remains amazed. This boy has more talent in his pinky finger than Pete has in his whole body. He’s sure of it. 

 

Pete turns his head as the song comes to a close and he sees Joe’s face, mouth gaping open and eyes wide. 

 

“Holy shit. That was incredible,” Joe says. 

 

“Nah, it was nothing,” Patrick laughs nervously, rubbing a hand through his choppy hair. 

 

“That wasn’t nothing, Trick. That was fucking beautiful. We’re gonna take over the world together,” Pete promises, beaming from ear to ear, his eyes crinkling with the force of it.

 

“Congrats, Patrick. You’re our new lead singer. Welcome to the band.” Joe laughs, opening his arms to pull Patrick in for a hug. 

 

“But if I’m the singer who’s gonna play the drums?” Patrick asks faintly, from somewhere near Joe’s armpit. 

 

“I know a guy.” Pete says. “And if you’re nervous, don’t be. I can still be the front man. I’ll do all the talking.” Pete adds solemnly, because he knows that’s something that this Patrick must be worried about. 

 

Patrick makes his way out of Joe’s embrace and steps up until he’s looking Pete in the eyes.

 

“Can you read my mind?” Patrick squints at him suspiciously. Pete can’t help but let out a cackle at that.

 

“No. I just have really good intuition,” Pete says, trying to placate this Patrick. 

 

The Patrick he knows inside out, but the one that has only known him for about an hour. 

 

Patrick doesn’t trust easily. Pete doesn’t blame him. 

 

Pete leans forward to give Patrick a hug. He feels it’s appropriate after Joe did it first. Patrick squirms against his hold, before he decides to relax and pat Pete on the back half-heartedly. 

 

“So when do we start practicing?” Patrick asks, as soon as he’s escaped Pete’s sweaty hold. 

 

“Tomorrow. I’ve got some lyrics for you to look at. I have a feeling you’re a melodies man.” Pete beams at Patrick. 

 

“Alright. Let’s meet back here then.” Patrick nods, a little smile breaking out across his face. Pete really wants to kiss him. _Bad Pete_ , he reprimands himself internally. 

 

“No worries dude. See you at 4?” Joe says. Pete nearly forgot he was standing there. 

 

“Sounds good. See you then. It was nice meeting you.” Patrick says to Joe, and then, in a strange turn of events, he turns to Pete.

 

“It was a pleasure, Pete. I’m honored to meet the King of the scene. You might be a lot shorter and weirder than I expected, but...I think your reputation precedes you. I hope you prove me right.” Patrick settles a hand on Pete’s shoulder and squeezes, a friendly gesture.

 

Pete is stunned. He doesn’t remember this happening the first time, but it’s possible he forgot. He didn’t think this version of Patrick could surprise him, lo and behold. 

 

“Thank you.” Pete smiles at him again, a little sheepish this time. “I’ll do my best to live up to the title.” 

 

xxx

 

From that day forward, things are very much the same. It’s exactly the way Pete remembers it. He’s trying to wheedle his way into Andy’s good graces to join the band and be their drummer, but it’s slow going. By this point they’ve already had several basement shows and are working on their first record. 

 

They might not have a permanent drummer, but for now they’re having different people fill in for the studio time. 

 

“Andy,” Pete puts on his charming voice. “I will give you whatever you want. Complete musical freedom. A new drum kit. _Half_ the money from our shows. You name it and I’ll do it.” 

 

“Mm.” Andy hums down the line, noncommittal. “You’re gonna have to do better than that. I’ve played in your bands before, Pete. They don’t last. Hell, most of them barely make it off the ground before you leave and find another band to torment.” Andy sighs, clearly frustrated with having this conversation for the millionth time. 

 

The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different outcome. The thing is, Pete knows that Andy will cave. Because that’s what happens. It’s meant to be. Written in the stars, or whatever. 

 

“First of all, I resent that. Secondly, this band is not like the other bands. Come on, dude. It’s pop punk! _Please._ You have to hear this kid sing. You’ll be so fucking impressed.” Pete pleads. 

 

“Alright. I’ll come see one of your shows. This kid’s voice better be so fucking smooth that it’ll melt butter. But I’m not making any promises. Text me the details and I’ll be there.” Andy replies, sounding fondly exasperated at best. 

 

“Thank you so much, dude. I love you.” Pete babbles happily. 

 

“Yeah, yeah. I love you too, you annoying bastard.” Andy huffs, and then the line goes dead. Pete pulls his phone away from his ear and immediately texts Andy the date, time, and address of their next show. This is history in the making. 

 

xxx

 

It wouldn’t be _Take This To Your Grave_ without a few fist fights. Pete remembers them well. Being crammed in a van for hours on end with three other sweaty, dirty boys isn’t exactly paradise.

 

It didn’t bode well for anyone’s mood, but especially Patrick’s. Patrick already had a terribly short fuse to begin with, but if you throw in a summer tour in a shitty old van and his control freak tendencies, you got bloodshed. 

 

Andy had officially joined the band a few weeks ago, and he already looked tired of their bullshit. They were stopped at a gas station, to get snacks and fill up the tank.

 

Joe was inside paying for everything, while Andy sat in the drivers seat with a comic book in his lap. Pete and Patrick were standing by one of the gas pumps, arguing. 

 

If Pete gets turned on when Patrick pushes him around, that’s his business. There’s something incredibly homoerotic about having another man’s hands wrapped around your throat. So maybe Pete’s a little fucked up. 

 

Pete can’t even remember what they were arguing about at this point, but knowing Patrick, it’s probably a chord progression. It’s inconsequential. It doesn’t really matter to Pete, but to Patrick it’s a Big Deal. Pete already knows that they’ll eventually compromise. 

 

It doesn’t stop the chill that goes down his spine when Patrick pushes him up against the gas pump and fists his collar. Patrick is beet red, sweat dripping down in his face in the July heat of the Midwest.

 

They’re both breathing heavily, pressed together from head to toe. Pete can feel Patrick’s heart beating in time with his own, loud in his ears. 

 

Pete feels like he’s going to buzz out of his own skin, adrenaline pumping through his veins. Patrick is yelling something at him, but he can’t really hear it. He just watches Patrick’s mouth move for a while, until Patrick shakes him by the shoulders and grips his throat. 

 

Pete jolts back into the moment, where Patrick’s hot breath is fanning across his face and he looks like he wants to murder Pete. 

 

“Patrick.” Pete tries to say, but he’s starting to feel light headed with the lack of oxygen and he can’t speak around the way Patrick is choking him. He’s also pretty sure most of the blood in his body has rerouted to his dick in the last thirty seconds. 

 

Patrick lets go of his throat, so Pete can take in a few gasping breaths of air, and then against his better judgement, Pete smiles. He can’t help it, honestly. He starts laughing, his lungs burning and his stomach aching. 

 

If it’s even possible, Patrick’s rage doubles. 

 

“What the fuck. Do you think this is funny? Do you not care what our music sounds like? This is our job, asshole. Take it seriously and stop acting like a fucking child.” Patrick grits out.

 

Though it’s very bad timing, Pete remembers this moment well. This is the moment he fell in love with Patrick. It feels a lot like flying. 

 

Pete smiles wider, and he keeps laughing. He knows what comes next, but he can’t bring himself to block it. Patrick punches him in the face, like he has so many times before. Pete folds over himself, wheezing and clutching his jaw. 

 

He spits the blood out of his mouth onto the hot pavement. His mouth tastes like metal, stained bright red, but he’s never felt more alive. He knows that Patrick’s hands on him will leave bruises. It sends a thrill through him. 

 

Patrick looks at him, panting loudly with his eyebrows furrowed in confusion and that scowl seemingly a permanent fixture. 

 

“I’m sorry.” Pete grits out. “I don’t think it’s funny. You don’t understand what’s happening right now. But someday you will.” Pete admits. Oh, fuck. Now he’s the cryptic sounding one, isn’t he? 

 

“You infuriate me.” Patrick deadpans. He turns on his heel and gets into the back of the van. He glares out the window and he ignores Pete for the rest of the day.

 

Pete keeps on grinning at the back of his head. It’s the first day Pete feels like a person who deserves something good. _Someone_ good. Someone like Patrick. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's baaaaack. hi friends. sorry i didn't update this for so long. i hope you enjoyed this chapter. it's honestly one of my favorite things i've ever written. updates should be more frequent now, hopefully. sorry i still don't have a schedule. comments and kudos fuel my life force. so leave them, please. 
> 
> come talk to me on tumblr @ gothfob. mwah. love u all.


	4. four

Pete loves music video shoots. He knows he isn’t the best actor, but he has fun pretending. He likes coming up with crazy, stupid concepts that only he thinks are hilarious.

 

The thing is, in the early days, where Pete is currently pretending to be a version of himself he no longer is, they have basically no budget for their videos.

 

Pete doesn’t mind that so much. He’s got a problem more with this particular day and this exact video.

 

The one they decided to shoot outside. In Chicago. In winter. Andy is driving the van to this music video shoot, on slick, icy roads. The dreaded and fateful _Where Is Your Boy Tonight_ video. Pete remembers this day in startling clarity. 

 

The worst part of reliving a car crash is the fact that he knows it’s going to happen before it occurs. He knows the aftermath. He isn’t pumped to go through this near death experience again.

 

Even though he knows he won’t _actually_ die, nor will any of his boys, it is still a very tumultuous time period in their history. 

 

So Pete is vibrating with nervous energy, sitting next to Patrick in the back of the van. Joe is in the passenger seat. Luckily, Andy and Joe both have their seatbelts on. Pete checked, and double checked. He knows he can’t stop this from happening. He can only wait. 

 

Andy and Joe are bickering about something, but it’s so inconsequential Pete can’t bring himself to listen.

 

As per usual, he’s focused on Patrick and the way he’s humming along to the radio, tapping his fingers against his bare knee, sticking out of his ripped jeans. 

 

It’s funny how we, as a species, are so unaware of all the horrible possibilities, Pete thinks. You’d think our survival instinct would protect us from anything, but there are some things you can’t prevent. Accidents are one of them. 

 

Pete has his hands on his thighs, clenched and ready to launch himself at Patrick, in some weird attempt to protect him from the impact.

 

Oddly enough, he remembers doing the exact same thing as soon as he realized what was happening the first time. He’s not sure if it helped much, but he isn’t going to change his tactic now when Patrick’s safety hangs in the balance. 

 

Pete feels like the moment the van goes off the road happens in slow motion. Luckily, there’s no car for miles around them, so they don’t risk hitting anyone else as the van spins out on the ice and veers toward the side of the road, where things get steep.

 

The only thing that can be heard is their screaming as Andy tries to swing the wheel around enough to narrowly avoid hitting a tree and slamming on the brakes in the frosty grass. 

 

By the time they come to a halt, Pete is huddled on top of Patrick, shielding him. Andy and Joe seem relatively unharmed, same as the first time. But Pete’s got a bump forming on his forehead and Patrick’s lip is busted open. 

 

For a minute, they all just stare at each other in something between terror and relief they aren’t dead. Then, Joe and Andy get out of the van on shaky legs, saying they need some air. 

 

Pete remembers this part. God, does he remember. This is the only good part of this entire day. He couldn’t help himself then, he’s no better now. Pete is just a man, after all.

 

He’s got a trembling, pale Patrick laying beneath him. A Patrick with ruby red lips and a fearful look on his face. The adrenaline is coursing through Pete’s veins, and all he can think is what he thought the first time: _I’m alive and I love you and I might not get another chance to do this._

 

Pete kisses Patrick with every emotion he’s ever felt for him. This is their first kiss, to Patrick. But it is one of countless for Pete, and it never gets old.

 

His heart thrums, threatening to burst through his chest. Pete tastes blood, Patrick’s blood, staining his teeth and tongue red. Pete doesn’t care. 

 

Pete presses their mouths together, feels the lush give of Patrick’s lower lip against his. Pete presses his tongue forwards, exploring Patrick’s mouth for all it’s worth.

 

It is a kiss that feels endless to Pete, but he knows it’s only a few seconds before Patrick stops kissing him back and pushes him away. 

 

Pete hovers over Patrick, panting. He looks into those riptide eyes and he sees Patrick’s soul.

 

“I quit.” Patrick says, with blood running down his chin. It stings like venom, just as bad as the first time. Patrick shoves Pete off him and hops out of the van. 

 

Pete falls on his back and stares up at the ceiling, full of despair. His eyes water with the rejection, even though he knows how this is going to end. That’s the worst part. 

 

This version of Patrick doesn’t know what’s going to happen. He doesn’t know what’s ahead of him. He doesn’t know all the incredible things they’re going to accomplish together.

 

Patrick doesn’t understand the gravity of the situation. Right now, he thinks the band is just for fun. He thinks it doesn’t matter. 

 

It does. This band matters to Pete so fucking much it’s like breathing. It’s an essential part of _PeteandPatrick_.

 

He can’t imagine a world where they don’t make music together. Andy and Joe give a fuck about this band, give a fuck about them as people. Not to mention, all the kids they’re going to save. Patrick can’t forget about the kids. They need Fall Out Boy. 

 

Pete has this nagging voice in the back of his head that always wonders if Patrick would be better off without him. Patrick would be happier if he walked away from Pete, from the band. Pete thinks maybe that’s true.

 

But that isn’t the kind of world he wants to live in. If he’s selfish, then so fucking be it. Pete won’t stop fighting for Patrick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, hear me out. i've always wanted to write this particular event. i had to end it there, for dramatic effect or whatever. i'm sorry this is so short. but updates should be more frequent. and like, come on. i had to. "long live the car crash hearts" & "we're making out inside crashed cars" exists for a reason. this is just one theory as to why, you feel me? 
> 
> come talk to me on tumblr @gothfob :)


	5. five

An hour later, they find themselves in a little roadside diner, picking at their food and arguing. 

 

Joe and Andy watch raptly, with no helpful interjections on their part, Pete can’t help but notice.

 

Pete needs better friends. But he can’t focus on that right now. Currently he’s trying to convince Patrick to stay in the band. 

 

Patrick’s mouth is a harsh line, his face flushed with anger as he stabs his fry into the ketchup on his plate. 

 

“You can’t just quit, okay? That’s not fair to any of us. _You_ signed up for this.” Pete urges, his hands gripping the tabletop with white knuckled anxiety. 

 

“I signed up for this?” Patrick scoffs in distaste. “I signed up to be in a smelly van with three other dudes and no showers or hotel rooms for weeks at a time? I signed up to have a fucking near death experience?” Patrick shrieks, his voice getting higher with every word. 

 

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Pete says, deathly quiet. He feels defeated already. It’s been a long day. But it isn’t over yet. 

 

“I sure as fuck did not sign up for all of this. Or for you, frankly.” Patrick glares at him.

 

“Listen. I didn’t know what being in this band would entail. I said yes because I thought it would be a fun thing to do over the summer. I wanted to make friends, because before this I was just a nerdy kid who played drums in his basement. I think I’d rather be that person than be in this band.” 

 

Pete stares at him, open mouthed with shock. He’s sure his eyes are big and sad when he can finally speak again.

 

“You’re saying it isn’t worth it. You’re quitting because of me. Not because of the car crash.” Pete states, his voice devoid of everything. He feels like a robot, his heart shrinking in his chest.

 

Patrick insulting him is his least favorite thing. Because Pete knows he means it, and he also knows that it’s true. 

 

Patrick doesn’t say anything for a moment, he just looks steadily back at Pete with something akin to pity.

 

It’s just as soul crushing as the first time he experienced it. You’d think knowing ahead of time would make him handle the blow better, but it kind of makes it even more painstaking. 

 

“Patrick,” Andy finally interrupts, bless his heart. Pete is sure he’s the only sane one of them. “I think you might be overreacting because of the car crash. Take a few minutes to think this through before you make a decision.” Andy says it diplomatically, always the voice of reason. 

 

“I hate it when you’re right.” Patrick huffs, crossing his arms in front of his chest and wrinkling his nose in annoyance. Pete takes a few deep breaths and a sip of his milkshake before he tries to say anything.

 

“I get it. I know I can be an annoying mother fucker, trust me. But you can’t just give up on this band because of one bad thing that’s affecting your judgement. At least, I think that’s what’s happening here.

 

“Unless you actually hate my guts, which I wouldn’t really blame you for.” Pete shrugs, trying to sound nonchalant about it. He doesn’t pull it off, his voice cracking in the middle of the last sentence. 

 

“No, I don’t hate you.” Patrick shakes his head, looking frazzled. “You’re just not what I was expecting. This band is new and it’s still scary to me. Everything is scary to me lately.” Patrick murmurs, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

 

“I understand that. More than you know. It’s okay to be scared. Most of the things worth doing are terrifying. But they’re worth it, I promise you. I won’t make you regret being a part of this.” Pete replies, his voice full of sincerity.

 

Patrick gives him a half smile, still looking unsure. 

 

“You better not let me down.” Patrick purses his lips, deep in thought.

 

He starts to say something, but the alarm bells are going off in Pete’s head. Whatever Patrick is about to say, he can’t say it in front of Joe and Andy. They aren’t supposed to know about Pete and Patrick just yet.

 

The kiss is like an elephant in the room, taking up space between them, making it hard to breathe. 

 

“Stop!” Pete yelps, a little harshly. Patrick looks at him, startled. Andy frowns and Joe raises an eyebrow at him in concern. “Let’s- uh- go outside and take a walk. We can talk out there.” Pete adds hastily. 

 

“Oh...kay.” Patrick stutters, standing up and making his way to the front door of the diner. Pete can feel Joe and Andy’s curious, suspicious gazes burning into his back through the window. 

 

Pete buries his hands in his pockets and starts down the sidewalk. Patrick follows, their shoulders brushing through their jackets. 

 

“What were you going to say?” Pete coaxes, as gently as he can. Patrick still looks like he feels off, a little more fragile than usual. 

 

“I was going to ask you why you kissed me earlier.” Patrick says this in a whisper. Pete stares down at his sneakers when he answers. 

 

“It’s complicated. It was mostly a heat of the moment thing. But I’m sorry if I caught you off guard or made you feel confused. I really like you, Trick. I always have.” Pete admits, fumbling for the right words. 

 

“Thank you for the apology but that doesn’t really clear anything up.” Patrick frowns. “You like me as a friend?” Patrick adds as an afterthought. Pete grimaces. 

 

“Well. Yes and no. You’re my best friend, and I like that. But I also like you in a not so platonic way.” Pete winces as the words fall out of his mouth. He says it exactly the same as he remembers it. 

 

Patrick tenses up and freezes in place next to him. Pete starts bouncing on the balls of his feet with nerves. 

 

“That’s what I assumed the kiss meant. But I wasn’t sure. You surprised me. I don’t know what to say…” Patrick trails off. 

 

“You could say you like me back.” Pete mumbles. 

 

“I wish I could. I like being best friends with you, but that’s all, Pete. I don’t want to hurt your feelings. I’m not gay.” Patrick says the last part with utter conviction.

 

Pete has to hold in his urge to laugh. Oh, poor, young, confused Patrick. Pete can’t bring himself to be sad this time around, mainly because he knows this particular statement holds no truth. 

 

“I’m not gay either. I just like you. I guess that makes me bi, or whatever. But, y’know. Semantics.” Pete waves his hand, trying to brush off the rejection.

 

This Patrick doesn’t know himself yet, and that’s okay. He’ll come around, right? 

 

“I’m not gonna lie, that makes me uncomfortable. I don’t think I’ve ever met a gay person before. Or bi, really. But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t try to kiss me again. Or hit on me in general. It’s gross.” Patrick says, voice full of disdain. 

 

“Trust me, you’ve met more gay people than you realize.” Pete snorts.

 

“As for the rest, that’s kind of offensive, dude. I won’t kiss you if you don’t want me to, but maybe you should be more careful with what you say. Also, if I hit on you, I can’t really help it. That’s just part of my personality.” Pete sighs. 

 

“I’m sorry.” Patrick groans. “I wasn’t trying to upset you. I was just being honest.” 

 

Pete can recognize the internalized homophobia under the surface with Patrick. He used to have it bad, the first time around. It took him a long time to accept himself and try to be happy. 

 

“I know. It’s alright.” Pete laughs. 

 

Before Patrick can respond, the world freezes around them for a few seconds. Pete spins around and sees Gabe, standing with his hands on his hips and a disapproving look on his face.

 

“What the fuck,” Pete exclaims. “What did I do wrong?” 

 

“I can’t tell you.” Gabe shakes his head. “Let’s try that again.” With a snap of his fingers, Gabe is gone, and Pete is magically back in the booth in the diner with the boys, fifteen minutes earlier once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hellooooo. im back. sorry it took so long. i had a bit of writers block. hope u like it.
> 
> come talk to me on tumblr @gothfob :)


	6. six

Pete’s disoriented, sitting at a booth in the diner again. His head is spinning, going over everything that he said to Patrick. Where did he go wrong? Did he push Patrick too far too fast? Should he have lied about his feelings? Should he be trying to convince Patrick that being gay isn’t gross? 

 

It could be any number of things he managed to fuck up here. Maybe he needs to let Patrick have his gay awakening in his own time, when he’s ready.

 

Pete has a habit of shoving all of his problems and emotions onto Patrick without asking. He refuses to believe that Patrick never loved him back, even if he didn’t say in such certain terms that he was in love with Pete.

 

He didn’t have to say it, Pete knew just by looking at him, touching him, all the deep, dark talks they’ve had in the middle of the night in hotel rooms. 

 

Pete decides to bite the bullet and after he’s convinced Patrick to stay in the band, he excuses them and leads Patrick outside onto the sidewalk again. 

 

“What were you going to say?” Pete tries the question for the second time in the last twenty minutes. Time travel is fucking confusing.

 

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to _do._ It’s like playing a game without knowing the rules, except the consequences are very real. 

 

“I was going to ask you why you kissed me earlier.” Patrick whispers, yet again. Pete hesitates, trying to make up his mind. 

 

“It was a heat of the moment thing. Like an Oh-My-God-We’re-Not-Dead kiss. I’m sorry if I caught you off guard. I didn’t know I was going to do it until it was happening.” Pete blurts it out quickly, like if he says it fast enough it’s almost like he isn’t lying. But it doesn’t work that way. 

 

“Oh.” Patrick exhales slowly. “Okay. Thanks for being honest. It’s fine. You’re my best friend, Pete. I care about you. If you were gay you know you could tell me, right?” Patrick says, raising an eyebrow at Pete as their shoulders bump.

 

This is already going better than the last time. Pete, bolstered by this very drastic, positive response, barrels forwards. 

 

“I’m not gay. I mean, I kind of am, but like-” _For you_ , Pete’s brain helpfully supplies. “I’m pretty sure I’m bi, so I like girls and boys. Is that...alright with you?” Pete looks at Patrick anxiously, shuffling from side to side. 

 

“Yeah.” Patrick offers him a small smile, like a peace offering. “I love you no matter what, man. Even if I don’t fully understand it, I’m not gonna judge you for it. Just promise me you won’t bring any dudes back to the motel without asking first.” Patrick laughs goodnaturedly. 

 

“I wouldn’t, I swear. Don’t wanna tarnish your innocence, Lunchbox.” Pete beams, relief flooding his body.

 

Patrick isn’t going to quit the band. Patrick didn’t even really friendzone him. He thinks, God, he hopes he did it right this time. 

 

“It’s a little late for that, dude.” Patrick snorts, and shoves lightly at Pete’s chest. 

 

Pete feels a buzzing warmth underneath his skin as they make their way back to the diner. He lets Patrick go inside first, and when he turns to look at the alleyway at the side of the building, he sees a tall figure in a garish purple hoodie. 

 

Gabe gives him a thumbs up, winks, and then he’s gone. Pete grins, and follows Patrick back inside to their friends. A little shaken, but none the worse for wear. 

 

xxx

 

One of Pete’s favorite things to do, that he’s desperately missed from the old days, is hanging all over Patrick. In any place he could manage justifying it.

 

A hand on the shoulder here, a high five there, a hug, a kiss on the cheek, ruffling his hair, cuddling in the back of the van when it’s cold outside or Pete has a nightmare. 

 

Pete stands by the notion that Patrick gives the best hugs, and in turn, even better cuddles. He makes you feel warm and safe and totally secure. He makes Pete feel loved, even when he hates himself and feels depressed and has days old eyeliner smeared down his cheeks. 

 

So now that he’s got this once in a lifetime opportunity, he figures he might as well take advantage of it while he can.

 

He’s twenty two again, full to the brim with emotions and they’re all for Patrick. He has to let them out somehow, even if he can’t say it to Patrick’s face. Not yet, at least. 

 

Pete is a hurricane of energy when he’s on stage. He’s pumping up the kids, he’s playing bass, he’s spinning in circles, he’s screaming along to _Saturday,_ he’s crowd surfing, he’s looking into Patrick’s eyes. 

 

Patrick is the only person that can make him slow down, calms him and comforts him in an instant. Patrick is home.

 

But Patrick also makes his heart race, makes a shiver roll down his spine. He gives Pete butterflies, of the most colorful and iridescent variety. He makes Pete feel seen. He makes Pete feel _alive._

 

Pete can’t contain himself, he can’t fucking help it when he draws nearer to Patrick, guided to him like a missile. Pete comes towards Patrick from behind.

 

He takes him by surprise, leaning into his space, his bass pressed between his stomach and Patrick’s back. Pete buries his face in the back of Patrick’s neck and wraps his arms around Patrick’s chest in an embrace that’s practically a gentle headlock. 

 

Patrick stumbles over a few words as he sings, his fingers fumbling over the fretboard of his guitar.

 

Pete grins into Patrick’s sweaty skin, starts kissing at Patrick’s neck with fervor. He feels high on adrenaline, with the idea that the whole crowd can see what he’s doing, that they’re screaming even louder than they were a moment ago.

 

He doesn’t have to deal with the consequences when he can’t see Patrick’s face, when they can’t talk until the show is over. 

 

Pete lets himself savor the moment, being pressed up against Patrick in all the best places, licks the sweat off his skin and breathes in the smell of his aftershave and shampoo.

 

Pete could die happy here, forever stuck in this liminal space where he loves Patrick and he can have this, it’s okay to have what he wants.

 

The crowd cheers them on, and he wonders if they know what this means, why Pete’s doing it. He’s pretty sure they can’t understand the magnitude with which he aches for Patrick to love him back. 

 

There’s something magical about hearing Patrick sing _Me and Pete,_ he thinks he could bottle this feeling and get drunk off it.

 

Pete isn’t really the possessive type, but Patrick is different. He is golden, he is Pete’s true blue, and he is Pete’s _person._

 

So Pete can’t really be blamed if he wants to mark his territory, that he wants the world to know that Patrick is his, even if it’s just him being Pete’s best friend, Pete’s lead singer. Pete will take whatever Patrick is willing to give him. 

 

Pete pulls away as the song comes to a close, Patrick belting out the high note clearly and effortlessly, and then Pete runs back over to his side of the stage to grab the mic. 

 

“Thank you all for coming. We’re motherfucking Fall Out Boy!” Pete says, and then he flips his bass over his shoulder and bolts for backstage, which is really just a hallway in this dive bar that leads to a bathroom.

 

Pete might be a bit of a coward, afraid of what Patrick will say, of what he’ll do. He knows he isn’t getting away unscathed, considering for Patrick, this is the first time Pete has ever done anything like this.

 

So Pete locks himself in the bathroom and waits for the inevitable knock of doom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! welcome back to this trainwreck of my emotions and feelings about peterick. hope ur enjoying these short, sporadic updates. i can't promise they'll be very regular, at least not until after christmas. i'll be working on my peterick fic for the christmas collection, so stay tuned for when i post that.
> 
> kudos and comments are immensely appreciated.
> 
> come talk to me on tumblr @gothfob :)


	7. seven

When the knocking comes, just two minutes later, it’s more like Patrick is pounding his fists into the door. Pete would be worried about him breaking his hands, except he’d rather Patrick punch the door and not his face. 

 

“Pete! Open the door, for fuck’s sake.” Patrick barks. He sounds furious. Pete tries to take deep breaths, his heart racing and the blood pumping so loud it fills his ears. 

 

Pete, against his better judgement, opens the door. Patrick shoves his way past him with his hands clenched by his sides as he starts pacing the room. 

 

“What the fuck was that?” Patrick demands, his eyes blazing.

 

“Hear me out,” Pete pleads, his hands up in the air. “There’s a lot of homophobia in the scene. I thought if I was all over you on stage it would help combat that, you know? A big fuck you to the bigots who come to our shows.”

 

Pete’s lying again, but he figures if he tells the truth Patrick might punch him in the face or quit the band again. He can’t have that. 

 

“Okay. But you could’ve at least warned me before you did _that._ Fucking hell.” Patrick blushes, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck.

 

He’s so fucking beautiful when he blushes, the rosy patches on his cheeks spreading down to his neck. He’s also covered in post-show sweat, and Pete is so tempted to lick it off. 

 

“I’m sorry.” Pete frowns. “I didn’t mean to overstep. It’s just...you’re my best friend. We don’t have a lot of boundaries. I didn’t think you’d mind that much.” Pete shrugs. _Blame everyone but me for this mess, even though it’s totally my fault._

 

“I don’t. You just caught me off guard. As long as you don’t hump my leg, do whatever you want on stage.” Patrick says, his face softening with understanding. 

 

“You sure?” Pete asks. He’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

 

“Yeah. It just threw me off, honestly. Sorry for flipping out on you.” Patrick says sheepishly. 

 

“It’s okay. I’m used to it. Just those teenage hormones, Patty, you can’t help it.” Pete laughs.

 

Patrick shoves him in the chest, but it looks like his mouth is twitching into a smile.

 

This Patrick doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into. Pete would feel bad, except he really can’t be anything but himself. Patrick of the past will learn this very soon, if he hasn’t already. 

 

xxx

 

Patrick doesn’t bat an eye when Pete hangs all over him after that, on stage or off. It feels good to be close to him again, to make stupid jokes, to tease each other.

 

Pete feels like he’s falling in love all over again. He didn’t even know that was possible, to love Patrick more than he did the day before. 

 

Their makeshift tour comes to a close, but it does not go out with a bang. It goes out quietly after the last show.

 

The adrenaline wears off and they’re just four young boys traveling across the country in a beat up van. They’re on their way home, and Pete’s in the back of the van with his head on Patrick’s lap. 

 

Patrick is reading a book above him. Pete studies him, the line of his jaw, the curve of his lush bottom lip, the flutter of his eyelashes, the cut of his cheekbones, the way his hair is getting long in the back and brushing against the nape of his neck.

 

Pete looks at him with starry eyes and he feels invincible. He is young and in love and breathless with it. 

 

Patrick’s free hand pets through his hair, gentling carding it away from his face. Pete reaches up and grabs his wrist and squeezes to get his attention.

 

Patrick bookmarks the page he’s on by folding the corner, and then he sets the book down and looks at Pete with his head dipped down.

 

His eyes are wide and blue-green-yellow and he looks impossibly fond when Pete requests his attention. Pete aches to write something about the freckles on the bridge of his nose. 

 

“Hey.” Pete says, his voice soft and hushed so Joe and Andy can’t hear them up front. 

 

“Hey.” Patrick echoes back at him, his smile a small and secret thing. 

 

“Promise me that you won’t leave?” Pete asks, because he has to. Despite how happy he feels in this moment, he knows that can slip through his fingers in an instant.

 

“Leave the band or leave you?” Patrick replies, interlocking their fingers. 

 

“Both.” Pete answers, avoiding looking into Patrick’s eyes because he feels too vulnerable now, too fragile. 

 

“Pete,” Patrick sounds exasperated. “I’m never leaving you or the band. Besides, you and the band are kind of a package deal.” 

 

“You and I are a package deal, Trick.” Pete says this fiercely, turning his head to lock eyes with Patrick again to show exactly how much he means it. 

 

“I know.” Patrick grins. “Now close your eyes and try to get some sleep. When you wake up, we’ll be home.” 

 

Pete usually has a hard time succumbing to sleep, but Patrick goes back to running his hands through Pete’s hair. Patrick always soothes him, quiets his racing thoughts and makes him feel safe. Pete falls asleep listening to Patrick hum along to the radio. 

 

xxx

 

When Pete wakes up, he feels disoriented and his head is throbbing. It’s like a hangover from hell. He doesn’t remember drinking. In fact, the last thing he remembers is falling asleep in Patrick’s lap in the back of the van. But Patrick isn’t here.

 

Pete sits up and realizes he’s in a bed, but he doesn’t recognize his surroundings. Pete spots the blackout curtains, and with a sinking feeling, he comes to the conclusion that he’s in a hotel room. 

 

Pete gets out of bed and goes rummaging through his suitcase to find his phone and see if he can find out what day it is.

 

When he grabs it, he shuts his eyes and prays that he hasn’t traveled too far from his last memory. Pete presses the button and the screen lights up with the date. 

 

_February 2nd, 2005._

 

Fuck. He went to sleep in the summer of 2003 and woke up in the winter of 2005. 

 

He does the only thing he can do in this moment. 

 

“Gabe!” Pete yells. Then he falls back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling and hoping if he blinks hard enough he can go back. It doesn’t work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so happy to be writing this fic again. sorry it took so long, but i have returned from war. i hope this chapter was worth the wait. it's a little short, but i love my cliffhangers. this is also the first thing i'm posting in 2020! happy new year, friends. 
> 
> i've been writing in this fandom since the end of 2017, but this marks my first two full years of being a part of this community. both years i had a total of about 90k words. that's almost 100k per year about these absolute dorks. here's to more writing about our boys this year! i hope you enjoy what i have in store. 
> 
> come talk to me on tumblr @gothfob
> 
> comments and kudos motivate me! :)


	8. eight

If there was any time in his life Pete would not want to live through again, it’s right now. He’s the first to admit he doesn’t do too well on his own, but when Gabe shows up, Pete is feeling particularly gloomy.

 

He wants to be alone, left to rot in this hotel room. He thinks he deserves it. But he does have some questions, and maybe the desperate hope that Gabe can skip this part for him or tell him what he’s meant to do. 

 

“Hey, man.” Gabe says, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He sounds much more sedate than usual. It’s probably a bad sign. 

 

“Would you please tell me why the fuck I’m _here_ when I was in 2003 like, 6 hours ago?” Pete snaps. 

 

“Your work was done there. Time to move onto the next era, and all that.” Gabe sighs, waving off Pete’s words halfheartedly. 

 

“You couldn’t have told me that’s how this all works before?” Pete asks, exasperated.

 

“No. That’d be breaking the rules.” Gabe shakes his head, looking grim. 

 

“I thought time was supposed to be linear.” Pete grumbles, smashing his face into the pillow. 

 

“Not exactly. Time travel kind of makes those lines blur. Who’s to say that everything isn’t happening all at once? Time is a big circle, really.” Gabe replies sagely. 

 

“When did you get so wise and philosophical?” Pete snorts. 

 

“I didn’t. I just learned things from time traveling for a while.” Gabe shrugs, as if that’s a normal thing to say. 

 

“Okay then. Answer me this, genie. Whatever timeline I’m in right now is different from the original. So is this timeline like an alternate reality and therefore not real?” Pete frowns. Time travel makes his head hurt. 

 

“This timeline is separate from the original. It’s not real, yet, technically speaking. But it could be, if that’s what you choose.” Gabe says, ever so fucking cryptic. 

 

“Certain events, though. Are those even changeable?” Pete asks, eyebrows furrowed pensively. 

 

“I can’t tell you that, amigo. You’re gonna have to figure that out for yourself. But I’m not gonna let you die.” Gabe adds, suddenly somber. 

 

“Gee, thanks.” Pete says dryly, rolling his eyes. “You’re of no help to me, like always. Just go away. I want to be alone.” 

 

Pete drapes his arm over his eyes to block out the light coming from the bedside lamp. 

 

“I don’t know if that’s a good id-” Gabe starts, sounding hesitant. 

 

“Fuck off, Gabe. Get out of my room.” Pete spits. Gabe stands by the foot of the bed for a few seconds,  but he doesn’t respond. By the time Pete moves his arm and opens his eyes, Gabe has vanished. 

 

Pete shuts off the bedside lamp  and pulls the covers up to his chin. He feels the anxiety buzzing in the back of his mind, that familiar dread settling like a stone in his stomach. He wants to block out the world for a little longer, to fall asleep and wake up in another year again. 

 

xxx

 

Pete sleeps restlessly, tossing and turning, and when he wakes up and checks his phone again, it’s still the same day and he’s got 2 missed calls from Patrick. It’s only 1PM, so Pete has been dozing on and off for a few hours. 

 

Pete forces himself to sit up and rubs his eyes before he calls Patrick back. 

 

“Hey,” Patrick says, sounding out of breath. “You’re running late. You okay?” 

 

“I’m fine.” Pete says, but it’s another lie. He should start keeping a tally. “I’m late for what?” Pete yawns. 

 

“The studio.” Patrick says slowly, sounding vaguely condescending. How is Pete expected to know what’s happening when he hasn’t been in this time period in well over a decade? 

 

“Oh. Sorry. I’ll be there soon.” Pete blurts, and then he hangs up before Patrick can ask him if he’s okay again. 

 

Pete gets out of the bed and goes to his suitcase, trying to find an outfit that isn’t supremely wrinkled. As he’s trying to find a suitable hoodie, Pete’s hand brushes something at the bottom of his luggage that is definitely not clothes.

 

Pete picks it up and looks at the label on the bottle with his name on it. His anxiety medication. Pete swallows hard, and then he shoves the bottle into his hoodie pocket once he’s finished getting dressed. 

 

When Pete finally gets to the studio, he’s hit with that crashing wave of deja vu. This is the first album they recorded on a major label. Which explains why Pete’s staying in a hotel in LA. This is before he bought his house here. He’s pretty sure he still lives in that apartment with Patrick in Chicago, if only for a little longer. 

 

Pete slides into their room, where the recording light is on, and finds just Patrick in the vocal booth and a producer sitting by the soundboard.

 

It might be a bit rude, but Pete bypasses him entirely without a greeting, making a beeline for Patrick as he shoves his way into the booth and into Patrick’s personal space.

 

Pete wraps his arms around him from the side, in an awkward hug. Pete can’t be blamed though, he really needs one right now. 

 

Patrick stops singing abruptly, patting Pete on the back gently. 

 

“Hi.” Patrick chuckles, his eyes searching Pete’s face for something. Whatever he’s looking for, he doesn’t seem to like what he finds. Pete probably looks as bad as he feels. 

 

“Hey, Trickalicious.” Pete pastes on a fake, manic grin. He’s playing at a version of himself that no longer exists, but his emotions during this time period seem to be resurfacing, and it’s making Pete start to panic. 

 

Patrick lets it go for now, because he is a good friend. Pete watches Patrick do a run through of one of their tracks, over and over until he gets it perfect. He feels better when Patrick is next to him, warm and alive and singing his words. 

 

By the end of the session, Pete manages to fumble his way through recording some of his bass parts, but he doesn’t think they’re good enough takes. He’s unfocused and on edge. 

 

Pete clings to Patrick desperately for the rest of the day, because he isn’t sure what else he can do to distract himself from the gaping blackhole that is his own mind. 

  
  


xxx

 

The next week, Pete and Patrick fly back home to Chicago. Patrick misses his parents. The only thing Pete has ever missed is sitting right next to him. 

 

So when Patrick leaves to stay with his folks for a few days, Pete finds himself wallowing all alone at the apartment. Joe and Andy are still in LA, as far as he knows. 

 

He hasn’t slept in days by now, and that only seems to worsen his inner turmoil. He’s being held together with tape and glue, and he’s about ready to fall apart. 

 

His mind won’t stop moving, can’t stop racing with bad intrusive thoughts and feelings. He’s full of restless energy and completely exhausted at the same time. 

 

Pete is alone and he thinks that his anxiety and depression are like these oil-slick, moving, writhing parasites that are lodged in his brain. They’re eating him alive, and they won’t shut up. God, he would do anything to get them to be quiet. He’s sinking, hitting rock bottom at an alarming pace.

 

Logically, Pete knows that these feelings are not permanent. He may always have these disorders, but they don’t have to control him, don’t have to stop him from being happy.

 

But in this moment, while all the bad thoughts are piling on top of each other, he can’t bring himself to care about logic. It hurts. Everything hurts. He feels that ever present self-loathing taking over him, clouding his judgement. 

 

Pete thinks, for the millionth time, that maybe Patrick would be better off without him. Maybe the whole band would be. Hell, the whole _world_ would be better off without him. 

 

Pete thinks that maybe this timeline doesn’t matter. If it’s an alternate reality, it’s not _real_ , right? He can’t actually die, even if he wants to. Not that Gabe ever really clarified that. 

 

Maybe if he kills himself in this timeline he’ll be sent back to the original one. 

 

So Pete gets in his shitty car and he drives to the Best Buy parking lot, because if he’s gonna do this, he might as well do it right. 

 

He digs the bottle of meds out of his hoodie pocket and shuts the engine off, but the radio is still playing. 

 

Pete pours the pills out into his palm. He’s always been a coward, has always taken the easy way out. This is no different. 

 

Pete, with his heart heavy and his mind going approximately a million miles a minute, swallows all of the little blue pills. The past and the present start to bleed together.

 

He leans back in the front seat and listens to _Hallelujah_ for a moment. 

 

The pills start to kick in, making his eyes droop, his heart rate slow, his mind come to halt. 

 

The same as the first time, Pete jolts upright in the seat when his panicked thoughts filter back in. God, he’s such a fucking idiot. He can’t do this to his parents, to Patrick, whether this is fucking real or not, it _feels_ real. 

 

Pete sluggishly fumbles for his phone, and hits speed dial number 1. The ringing sounds far away to him, and it goes straight to voicemail because it’s 3AM and Patrick is probably sleeping.

 

Pete calls one more time, in a desperate attempt to apologize for what he’s done, or maybe to tell Patrick he loves him, that Patrick is the one who _always_ helps him, but it goes to voicemail once more.

 

Finally, with his last cognizant brain function, he calls his mother and he waits for the ambulance’s flashing red lights behind his eyelids as he fades in and out of consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry. this is always a scene i planned on writing, but i tried to do it with as much care as i possibly can as a mentally ill person myself who is really struggling lately. it felt kind of cathartic to get my feelings out in some way. anyways, i pinky promise pete will be just fine. after all, what kind of story would this be if i let pete die? i'm not that cruel. 
> 
> come talk to me on tumblr @gothfob
> 
> kudos and comments fuel my angst ridden brain to write more


	9. nine

Pete wakes up in a hospital bed. Fuck. No luck. His theory, his desperate hope of being thrown back into the present timeline, is shattered. He doesn’t know how long he’s been out, but he’s alone. 

 

The chair is pulled up by the bed though, so he’s assuming his mother was here not too long ago. She must’ve headed back home to eat something and get cleaned up. 

 

Then, there’s a cracking noise, and Gabe is standing at the foot of his bed with this foreboding sort of expression.

 

“I told you I wouldn’t let you die, you fucking bastard. Why did you do that _again?_ ” Gabe snaps. 

 

“I thought I had nothing to lose. I wanted to go back to the real world, in the time that I belong.” Pete shrugs, feeling like his insides have been scraped out and he’s just hollow. 

 

“I could’ve told you that wouldn’t work.” Gabe sighs, walking closer to Pete’s head. 

 

“I don’t know what you can tell me.” Pete retorts sharply. 

 

“I’m sorry. I wish I could help you more, Pete. But you have to figure it out for yourself.” Gabe frowns. 

 

“I thought I was supposed to play my part. There are some things I can’t change. Things I’d feel wrong changing. Because I don’t know what would happen, if it would be better or worse.” Pete shuts his eyes against the sting of frustrated tears. 

 

“You don’t know till you try. If you do something wrong, I can always turn it back for you.” Gabe says, trying to placate him. 

 

“There’s no guarantee with any of this.” Pete shakes his head, and then he rolls over, turning his back to Gabe. “Just leave me be.” 

 

At that moment, Pete hears someone push open the door to his room and step inside. Pete assumes it must be a nurse, who probably thinks he’s crazy because he’s talking to himself. 

 

He is sorely mistaken, because the person is pacing in circles through his room and cursing under their breath. It is none other than Patrick Stump. 

 

Pete forces himself to sit up in bed and he tracks Patrick’s movement across the room with his eyes. 

 

“Pete,” Patrick finally says, absolutely glowering at him. 

 

“Um. Hi.” Pete replies, swallowing hard. 

 

“Don’t look at me like that.” Patrick groans, running his hands through his hair. “God fucking damn it, Peter. What is your problem? Why the fuck would you do that?” The _to me_ goes unsaid, but Pete hears it anyway. 

 

Pete isn’t sure whether he should cry or laugh in response to that. Neither is particularly appropriate. 

 

“I wasn’t sleeping. I just wanted my mind to be quiet. I think I was heading towards a mental breakdown for a while. Eventually it caught up to me. At the worst possible time, when the band is finally going somewhere. It was too much for me.” Pete says timidly. 

 

Patrick looks at him in disbelief, and underneath it lies the anger and the hurt. 

 

“So you try to kill yourself? You realize that’s fucking crazy, right?” Patrick spits out, completely livid. “If you were in so much pain, if you couldn’t sleep, why didn’t you just talk to me about it? I could’ve helped you.” 

 

“I know that.” Pete shrugs, feeling small and helpless. “I didn’t want to bother you. You were with your parents.” 

 

“What, you thought that your suicidal tendencies weren’t important enough for you to interrupt a visit with my parents? Do you think that’s a burden to me? I’m here to help you Pete, that’s what I _do._ ” Patrick says this fiercely, finally sitting down in the chair and scooting as close to the bed as he can. 

 

“I guess. But you’re not my therapist, Trick. It’s not your job to put me back together again.” Pete sighs. 

 

“I know that, but I want to help you. You’re my best fucking friend in the entire world.” Patrick bites his lip, and then he reaches out to hold one of Pete’s hands in his and squeezes. 

 

“Yeah. I called you.” Pete says hesitantly. He knows it’s going to make Patrick feel like shit, but he wants him to know he did try to reach out to him. Even if it was nearly too late. 

 

“Oh, God.” Patrick says, and then he gets paler, if that’s possible. “Last night. You tried to call me twice and I didn’t answer and you were- fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

 

Patrick’s face crumples when he starts to cry. Pete hates making him cry. Patrick shouldn’t waste his tears on him. 

 

“Hey, stop that. This isn’t your fault. You were asleep. I did this. Just me. Don’t beat yourself up.” Pete pulls Patrick’s hand up to his mouth and kisses it. 

 

“But I should’ve figured it out. I knew something was wrong that day you were late to the studio. I didn’t push. I could’ve prevented this.” Patrick looks devastated, like Pete is actually dead. 

 

“No. You couldn’t have. I was too far gone. I wouldn’t have listened to anyone. Please stop blaming yourself for this.” Pete begs. 

 

“Don’t ever do this to me again. I swear to God Pete, I will never forgive you if you die on me. I can’t lose you. I won’t.” Patrick sniffles, trying to look at him threateningly. 

 

“Are you gonna make me promise?” Pete asks, lowly. He knows the answer. He’ll do anything if it makes Patrick feel better, even if he doesn’t mean it. 

 

“Yes. Promise me you won’t do this to me. Never again.” Patrick sobs.

 

“I promise. I’m so fucking sorry, Patrick.” Pete crosses his fingers underneath the scratchy hospital blanket and holds onto Patrick with his other hand like a lifeline. 

 

“I can’t fucking believe you.” Patrick says softly, looking at Pete with a mix of exasperation and relief.

 

Then, in a brand new turn of events, Patrick fists his hand into Pete’s collar and pulls hard. Pete is pretty sure if this happened the first time, he’d damn well remember it. Patrick kisses him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apparently in this fic, when one of them almost dies, they always have to kiss. it's a rule. i'm sorry this is short. but it'll probably be the last update of this fic until after valentine's day, because i'll be working on my be my peterick story! stay tuned for that :)
> 
> come talk to me on tumblr @gothfob


	10. ten

After that, there’s a cataclysmic shift in the tectonic plates of their relationship. Patrick acts like this kiss never happened, much like the first one. He doesn’t offer Pete an explanation.

 

Pete knows he should be more upset about that, but he can’t bring himself to be. Deep down, Pete knows what it means. He knows Patrick’s heart almost as well as he knows his own. 

 

Pete isn’t going to rush him into this. The first time around, that didn’t work so well. Pete is stuck in this alternate timeline indefinitely. Therefore, he has all the time in the world.

 

He’s trying to be patient, to figure out the point of all this, the lesson. He’s also hopelessly fascinated with this version of Patrick, very much the same, but acting seemingly on impulse. 

 

Pete wonders sometimes if his Patrick ever had these thoughts, to reach out to Pete, to touch him, to tell him the truth about how he feels. Maybe he did. Maybe he’s been holding them back for a long time. Pete has no way of knowing. 

 

But the band leaves for the European leg of the tour without him. It sucks. He’s homesick for Patrick, even though Patrick hugged him hard and made him promise to call if he needs anything before they left. Pete moves back in with his parents, but somehow it makes him feel worse. He hates making them worry. 

 

So Pete distracts himself. He reads every book he owns, he writes down every thought he has, every lyric. He even resorts to practicing bass. He listens to the demos Patrick sent him. Patrick’s voice soothes him, an instant remedy for every bad feeling Pete’s ever had. 

 

When Pete feels particularly low, he starts making blog posts. They’re nothing special to him, really. Just word vomit on the page. But he types them, because right now, they’re all he has. 

 

_alive and (un)well. just being melodramatic when it's completely unnecessary. got blue pill eyes behind black eyelids. my mind is running but more like in place, kind of how life is. you wouldn't understand what i mean. you and they have been here before but it isn't the same for me. and trying to explain anything is just leaving me with a dry mouth and sore shoulders and you shaking your head (not in disagreement but more like disbelief). "mellow out"- but thats been the problem all along, at least it's been one of them. i feel like a nocturnal animal in the zoo at 12 noon. me turning away from you so you don't see my eyes when im walking out the door when im waving my hand back and forth and saying "i'm doing so-so" cause thats what i think someone "regular" would say._

 

_you saying "shake it off get back in the game kid. we're gonna be okay"- but trailing off in a whisper cause i know you dont even believe yourself. the volume goes with the truth. naivety feels very strange on me but is as warm as the shyness that comes with it. you'd never guess that. new york transit love affair. the veins going underneath the streets that feel so foreign yet endearing. it's not charm, i just don't get it. trust me (but not really). couch living (dead) has me hanging onto phone lines. darling, i'm not making sense and my throat is sore- maybe at least you know i mean it. dreading when your voicemail as it clicks on. and on and on and on. its me logging off.see you on tour soon. new clandestine merch over at your local hottopic._

_\- petey_

 

Pete shouts his turmoil into the void, hoping someone will read it, relate to it, feel it in the same way that he does. Sometimes, he wonders if Patrick ever reads them. He’s almost tempted to send him the link, to force him to confront the words that Pete is constantly writing about him. 

 

Instead, he decides to text Patrick a song lyric he wrote months ago, one that’s on their new album. He thinks this one bears repeating, wants Patrick to notice, wants a reaction, wants anything but the indifference he’s been getting for the last few weeks.

 

He’s been waiting for Patrick to be the one to call him and initiate the conversation. But maybe this text can be the catalyst. 

 

_joke me something awful, just like kisses on the necks of best friends_

 

Pete hits send before he can talk himself out of it. Then he waits. Patrick isn’t on his phone all that often. It’s also the middle of the night where he is right now, Pete is pretty sure. He remembers the tour schedule. 

 

An hour goes by, and then, like clockwork, his phone rings. 

 

“Hey, Pattycake.” Pete sing-songs, trying to sound nonchalant. Patrick isn’t in the mood for that.

 

“Pete,” Patrick says, deathly serious. “What the fuck did you just text me that for?” Patrick sounds out of breath, like he’s having a panic attack. 

 

The first time Patrick realized that Pete’s words were all for him, Pete did not provoke him. He didn’t try to make him notice it. This approach is a lot more aggressive, and Pete is starting to regret it. 

 

“I wanted you to see it.” Pete whispers into the phone, swallowing past his dry throat. 

 

“You wanted me to see a lyric that you wrote a while ago. One that I’ve already worked into a song.” Patrick replies, dumbfounded.

 

“Yep.” Pete pops the p, laughing nervously. “It’s an important one. I wanted to be sure you understood what I was putting down.” 

 

There’s a long pause, where Patrick seems to think over the words in his head. 

 

Patrick inhales sharply.

 

“Pete.” Patrick sounds pained. “I’m not a words guy. I honestly just put your words in an order that I think makes sense for the melody. I don’t really take the time to think about what they mean or who they’re about.” 

 

“I’m aware. That’s why I sent them to you. I wanted you to know they’re about you and me.” Pete feels the weight lift off his chest. 

 

Patrick makes an undignified noise over the phone, sounding a bit like he’s having a stroke. 

 

“You can’t just _do_ that.” Patrick chokes out. 

 

“Why not?” Pete retorts.

 

“Because making me sing love songs about myself is fucking ridiculous, and it makes me wildly uncomfortable.” Patrick sighs, clearly put upon.

 

“I’m sorry every song’s about you.” Pete says, but it’s a lie. He couldn’t stop doing it, even if he wanted to. 

 

“No, that’s the thing, you’re not sorry. Christ. It’s just that I want to keep my private life well, private. As much as I may like you, I can’t condone you writing shit about me.” Patrick is angry again. 

 

“What was that? Did you just admit you like me?” Pete replies gleefully, ignoring the rest of the statement. 

 

“That’s what you take out of what I just said. Of course. You’re insufferable and I hate you.” Patrick huffs. 

 

“Liar.” Pete buries his smile in his pillow. 

 

That may not have been a love declaration, but Patrick took it better than the original time he figured it out. Pete will take what he can get.

 

He thinks maybe things are looking up. Even if they weren’t, he doesn’t make promises he can’t keep. He’s going to keep writing songs about Patrick, because if he doesn’t he thinks he’ll go crazy from all of the feelings inside of him. 

  
Pete watches _Pretty In Pink_ alone in his room and thinks about Patrick being his Molly Ringwald. It’s the first good day in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome back! i hope this chapter flows okay. i decided to try something different. the blog post is a real one, obviously. from march 2005. i'm trying to be as reliable of a narrator as i can, and using pete's actual voice seems to help with that. also, i have been writing this fic sporadically for a year now, and i am only at the beginning of the futct era. lord save me, this is gonna be so fucking long. anyways, stay tuned for the next chapter, which, spoiler alert, is warped tour circa 2005. 
> 
> fun fact: this chapter is what originally inspired me to want to write this story to begin with. the idea of patrick figuring out what pete's words mean and that they're about him and how i think he would feel about it. it's a very big focal point of this entire thing, if you couldn't tell. 
> 
> comments and kudos motivate me to write more peterick bullshit. 
> 
> come talk to me on tumblr @gothfob


	11. eleven

Spring goes by quickly. Pete gets back on tour, and it is both incredible and horrible at the same time. 

 

It’s good to be at the shows again, to see the shining faces of the kids in the crowd, screaming his words back to him. It makes him feel on top of the world, being able to perform and to talk and to reach out to hold people’s hands. 

 

However, outside of the shows, it feels like hell. Being in the tour bus is much better than the van, sure.

 

But after the Incident, everyone is walking on eggshells around him. They shoot him worried, sometimes pitying looks. They bite their tongues when he walks into the lounge. They have conversations about him in hushed tones when they think he’s asleep. 

 

He’s never felt more disconnected from his friends than he does right now. Not to mention, the media circus surrounding his suicide attempt is brutal. It’s brought up in print, in interviews, splashed across gossip websites.

 

It makes Pete’s head hurt, makes his stomach tie itself in knots. He didn’t remember the aftermath being nearly as bad as the before. He can’t ever seem to escape his mistakes, but this one in particular will haunt him for life. 

 

The only bright spot is the release of their new _(old)_ record. Pete pours over the reviews, but he doesn’t really give a shit what most of the critics have to say.

 

He pays attention to the fans, the ones who rant and rave about what they love but still manage to give constructive criticism. The reception is as staggeringly positive as he remembers it. 

 

When summer finally rolls around, he celebrates his twenty-sixth birthday for the second time. They celebrate it by going out for drinks and then they have a hotel night. 

 

Like usual, Pete and Patrick are sharing a room. After Joe and Andy go to bed, it’s just the two of them. It’s getting late, and Pete is a little hazy. He may have overdone it with the alcohol. 

 

Patrick goes into his suitcase to find something that is meticulously wrapped, and then he drops it onto Pete’s lap and tells him to open it. 

 

Pete does, tearing into the wrapping paper to reveal _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban._ It came out last summer, from what Pete remembers, and he didn’t get to read it yet at the time Patrick gave it to him. 

 

Pete is pretty drunk, and he kind of wants to cry. 

 

“Thank you.” Pete says, earnestly. 

 

“Happy birthday.” Patrick smiles, and bumps their shoulders together. 

 

It’s without question that Pete sleeps in Patrick’s bed, and he’s the little spoon. Pete is grateful for the solace this brings him, the warmth and the safety. Pete brings Patrick’s hand up to his face so he can kiss it fondly, just before he falls asleep. 

 

xxx

 

Summer has a smell. Many smells, in fact. It’s hot asphalt, chlorinated water, fresh cut grass, barbeques, bonfires, ice cream, cotton candy.

 

It’s also Pete’s favorite season. Because there’s nothing like a summer tour with his best friends and the man he’s in love with. He never wants this season to end, never wants to go home and be without Patrick. He wishes he could live in eternal summer.

 

This particular summer is quite a momentous occasion. It’s Warped tour. One of the very first things they had ever headlined. Somehow, the second time around, it still feels just as magical. 

 

This is also when Pete meets Mikey Way. Which, the first time, left him feeling conflicted. Contrary to popular belief, Pete never dated him.

 

Most people in the press think he’s fucked a lot of people he’s only met in passing. The internet culture seemed to fuel the rumors. Pete isn’t particularly bothered about being linked to Mikey.

 

Back then, he didn’t know what it meant to like boys for more than a party trick. He just knew him and Mikey became fast friends. Pete’s obsessive tendencies kick in when he meets anyone new and shiny. 

 

Looking back at it now, Pete realizes he probably did have a crush on Mikey. That’s okay, and he can accept it for what it is. However, he doesn’t have a crush on Mikey anymore. 

 

It’s nice to talk to this version of him, the one that’s a bit scrawny and sarcastic with glasses and emo hair. 

 

What is brand fucking new this time, is Patrick being _jealous._ At first, Pete can’t place the emotion that crosses Patrick’s face when he whispers something to Mikey that makes him laugh. He doesn’t know why Patrick doesn’t like Mikey, why he leaves whenever he comes around. 

 

Last time, Patrick didn’t really care about what Pete did or didn’t do with Mikey. He was indifferent about their relationship, and him and Mikey were most definitely friendly.

 

Besides that, Patrick was dating girls before. Now, Patrick’s love life is suspiciously empty. 

 

Currently, it seems that Patrick has finally reached his breaking point. The entire band is on the bus, all doing their own thing.

 

Mikey shoves the door open without knocking, like he always does. He’s greeted with a chorus of hello’s, and then he plants himself on the couch next to Pete. 

 

Pete is having a nice conversation with Mikey, they’re both grinning. So yeah, maybe Mikey is flirting with him and Pete is doing it back.

 

But that’s only polite, isn’t it? He doesn’t want to make Mikey feel weird. Pete is a flirty person by nature, anyways. 

 

As soon as Mikey’s hand falls onto Pete’s knee and squeezes, Patrick clears his throat from where he’s sat in the stool by the kitchenette. Mikey doesn’t react, doesn’t even turn to face Patrick, he just keeps talking.

 

Pete looks at him immediately, and when he does, Patrick is scowling. Pete would even say that he’s glaring daggers at the back of Mikey’s head. 

 

“Hey, dude.” Pete interrupts Mikey mid-sentence. “Maybe you should go for now. I’ll talk to you later.” 

 

“Um, okay.” Mikey says, face full of confusion. “See you later, then.” Mikey pulls away from Pete and goes down the bus stairs. The door clicks shut behind him. 

 

Andy and Joe are in the back bedroom, playing video games. 

 

There’s a pregnant pause where Pete just stares at him and Patrick stares back sullenly. 

 

“What the fuck was _that_ about?” Pete asks, raising an eyebrow pointedly. He’s pretty sure he knows what it’s about, but he isn’t going to get his hopes up unless Patrick actually fesses up. 

 

“You know.” Patrick sniffs, and goes back to pretending to do something on his laptop.

 

Pete stands up and takes a few strides, until he’s standing beside Patrick.

 

“I don’t, actually. Care to explain?” Pete smirks. 

 

“I just don’t like him.” Patrick frowns, his face flushing with a combination of embarrassment and anger. 

 

“Oh. Why not?” Pete prods, trying to get a rise out of Patrick. It works, to Pete’s utter surprise and delight. 

 

“Because he’s all over you. He flirts with you, and you flirt back.” Patrick gets out through gritted teeth. It pains him to say so, clearly.

 

“What are you implying, exactly?” Pete teases, just to fuck with him at this point. 

 

“Nothing.” Patrick swallows hard. “But I think...I think I might not be completely straight.”

 

Pete feels like he’s getting emotional whiplash with how quick the charge in the air shifts. He wasn’t expecting this, specifically.

 

Pete has always known that Patrick wasn’t just into girls, but Patrick has never said the words out loud, let alone to Pete’s face. It was something that was unspoken in the real world. 

 

Pete blinks at him for about a minute before he can make his mouth form words. 

 

“Oh. Okay. That’s great, Trick. Welcome to the bisexual club. We have cookies.” Pete jokes. He watches the tension melt away from Patrick, and he smiles. 

 

“You are so ridiculous.” Patrick giggles. 

 

“Right. Speaking of me, did you just deflect the question by coming out to me? I’m not distracted that easily, dude.” Pete grins, poking Patrick in the cheek, right where the indent of his smile line is. 

 

“Maybe.” Patrick shrugs, blushing full force now. 

 

Pete places a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and then he waits. 

 

“I don’t like Mikey because you’ve spent every waking moment with him since Warped started and I’m scared I’m losing you to him and that you’re gonna run off into the sunset with him and forget I exist.” Patrick says, all in one breath. 

 

“Patrick,” Pete replies sternly, trying to convey how far off that assumption is. “Just ask me. I know you’re dying to.” 

 

“Are you screwing him, like everyone says you are?” Patrick sighs. “Do you have feelings for him?” 

 

“The answer to both of those questions is no. Even if that were the case, I could never forget about you.” Pete smiles sadly, rubbing Patrick’s back. 

 

“Oh. Wow. I was so sure that you were dating him.” Patrick laughs nervously. “I hate to admit it, but I’m kind of relieved.” 

 

“Yeah, me too. I’m glad we cleared that up.” Pete grins, wrapping Patrick in his arms. Patrick hugs him back, his arms around Pete’s waist. 

 

“Just to clarify, I still hate you profusely.” Patrick mumbles into Pete’s chest.

 

Pete throws his head back when he laughs, a loud, braying sound. He’s never felt so at peace with the world and his place in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cue hey jealousy by gin blossoms here* 
> 
> what's this? progress. imagine that. we're finally getting somewhere. not that it's all smooth sailing from here on out. we still have a lot of eras to get through, don't we? ;) 
> 
> comments motivate me to write whatever this dumpster fire of feelings is. 
> 
> hope you enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> come talk to me on tumblr @gothfob

**Author's Note:**

> this work has been in my google docs untouched since february. i planned on writing the whole thing before posting but....i lost inspiration. so now it's going to be chaptered. pls leave kudos and comments! your feedback fuels me to write better (and more!) 
> 
> i've never written anything time travel related before but i've read a lot of fics about it and i'm excited to play in this sandbox. 
> 
> title from i've got a dark alley by fob. 
> 
> come talk to me on tumblr @gothfob


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